


Out of Tragedy and Into You

by Raptor_Redemption



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Body Worship, First Time, Glove Kink, Leather Kink, Love Confessions, M/M, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:40:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22699549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raptor_Redemption/pseuds/Raptor_Redemption
Summary: The boys arrive in Altissia for a wedding on hold while political chaos rages around them. In the midst of it all, Gladio and Ignis take time to acknowledge feelings they've held for far too long, and the balcony of an Altissian hotel room becomes their evening playground.Based on this request:Gladnis, any scenario! Any age but I love main-game and older Gladnis especially. Ifnis is cool, too.  I've always liked the idea that they get together in Altissia just before everything goes south. I really love slow, sensual scenes that build up into rougher sex. Kinks: cumplay, gloves/leather, voyeurism, body worship.  Honestly, though, I'm not picky and would love to see what you come up with!
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 11
Kudos: 54
Collections: Final Fantasy XV NSFW Secret Santa 2019





	Out of Tragedy and Into You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Recipeh_for_Success](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Recipeh_for_Success/gifts).



> This pinch hit gift was finished and shared with Recipeh some time ago, but I am finally getting around to publishing it publicly! I tried to fit as many parts of the request as I could, and I'm glad I was successful. c: Thank you again for participating in the event, Recipeh, and especially for being so patient while I was finishing up your pinch hit! It's been an honor and a joy to talk with you since joining this fandom not too long ago!

Despite the frequent traveling that came as a part of Ignis's education, despite the visitations alongside ambassadors to other nations, and despite his numerous trips across Eos from his homeland Tenebrae to Insomnia, Ignis finds himself shockingly unfamiliar with the vast city of Altissia. Of course, he's read many times about the city in books and he could recite its complex political history from memory, but to describe the smell of freshly baked bread amongst the ocean salt would be impossible.

He's never been, and yet the city's affiliation as a mecca for both cuisine and high fashion has him more excited than he prefers to let on. This was supposed to be Noct's time, after all, and Ignis is not the kind of man to steal the idyllic nature of the Prince's royal wedding away by focusing too much on his own pursuits. Now, his miniature excursions serve as little more than distractions from disaster at home and a wedding that may never be.

Still, he manages to lead the other boys into bakeries, restaurants, and wineries he's chosen himself—the itinerary isn't strict, he reminds them, but it will be delicious—and he makes it a point to include Altissia's grandest architecture along their travel routes.

"Quite the tour guide, aren't 'cha?" A light elbow pushed into Ignis's ribs draws his attention to the glass of wine Gladio has lifted for a toast.

Ignis smiles, then clinks his own glass against Gladio's. "Hardly," he says. "You might say I've spent just a touch too much time perusing those travel magazines every time we stop for petrol."

Gladio chuckles. "Nah. I think you also just have a knack for this. Mister gourmet wine connoisseur over here."

Prompto sidles by for just a moment on his way to snap a photo of something he must have seen on the other side of the establishment. "Gladio's right, dude. You're kind of a natural."

To be such a natural, Ignis wonders why he can't pin down the reason the butterflies in his stomach seem to have gone rabid enough to start gnawing at his insides. There's something about this place, he thinks, that he can't quite place. Could it really be exactly how movies and books portray it? Could Altissia truly be some gateway to romance unlike any other spot in the world? Ignis convinces himself that he's imagining it, but his gut tells him that Gladio's amber eyes are smoldering more than usual.

With Noctis and Prompto having wandered off together (again), Ignis lets his posture sink just a touch and sucks down more wine than might be dignified for a single sip.

"How long's it been since we've known each other, huh, Iggy?"

Ignis blinks, his lips still at the rim of his glass. It's a good question, despite it coming seemingly from nowhere. The dry acidity of the wine distracts him from calculating an answer—the rounded dip of Gladio's tank top isn't helping much, either. "Well, truthfully we've been working side by side since we were young, but I suppose it's been, what, seven? Eight years or so since we became friends?" Ignis ignores how the word "friend" seems an inaccurate descriptor for them, and he sees a tinge of discomfort in Gladio's eyes that indicates he may think the same.

"Long time."

"Quite."

They're quiet again, and Ignis hears Prompto prattling on about a street vendor just outside the door. Ignis makes a move to rise from his stool and rejoin the others for a further exploration of the city when Gladio's huge hand comes down to trap his against the countertop. It's warm and admittedly much softer than Ignis might have expected. The grip is comforting, and it sets the butterflies at ease.

"Dunno why I'm beating around the bush like this," Gladio says. "It's not like me. Guess I just don't want to, I don't know, screw things more than they already are."

Ignis's lips pull down into a concerned frown, and he sits right back down. There's not really room for Gladio and Ignis to sit the way they are, turned toward one another on adjacent stools, and their knees brush together. "What in the world could you be talking about? I can't imagine how you would ruin a thing."

"I dunno," Gladio says. "I was gonna wait, but then—"

"You don't need to verbalize what's happened back home, unless you'd like to." Ignis knows what's on Gladio's mind—the pain is all too clear in his eyes.

Gladio shakes his head and presses his lips into a grimace. "I've got my sister, still. It's better than what most people 've got."

It pains Ignis to see Gladio like this, a slave to the side of him that thinks sequestering his emotions is part of his duty as Shield, but Ignis says nothing. Instead, he grabs back at Gladio's hand, maintains gentle eye contact, and quietly waits for Gladio to feel ready saying whatever it is that's on his mind.

"I _want_ you, Iggy. We've lost so much, you know? I ain't losin' my chance to say that to you." Gladio pauses, and oh how Ignis wishes this wasn't the one time he has no idea what to say.

Ignis knows how he must look, eyes wide and glossed with emotions he hasn't taken time to process since that fateful morning in Galdin. 

"Yes," he finally says. "I do believe that's something we should address more earnestly."

It's just then that Prompto and Noctis sidle back into the hole-in-the-wall wine bar and eye their companions' empty wine glasses. "Ready to head out?" Ignis meets Noctis's eyes, and the excitement is genuine. He's pleased to see the prince making the most of their trip, despite what's happened, and Ignis wouldn't dare take that from him. Offering Gladio's hand one more telling squeeze, Ignis lifts himself from his place at the bar and smiles at the others.

"How do we feel about a touch of shopping?" he asks, and the conversation explodes once again into their options for exploration. Ignis's perception of the city is different for the remainder of the day, though. Now, he understands the hint of a feeling he couldn't grasp before, and he feels for himself exactly why Altissia is known as an escape for lovers.

There's just something about the way that Gladio makes eyes at him, grabbing at his hand when the others aren't looking, that allows everything to click into place.

At one point, Gladio even murmurs, "Wanna kiss you," and Ignis knows for a fact that he's never felt his heart soar like this.

"You will," Ignis says, but he offers little more than a playful grab at Gladio's scruffy chin. "Later."

All four of them typically share a hotel room—the whole point of this trip has been to spend time together, to keep Noctis company. Now, with negotiations broken down and spirits broken even further, they couldn't imagine spending the time apart. It's something that Ignis would have no other way, but even _his_ mind, always rich with solutions, struggles to conjure a way for him and Gladio to be alone.

When Ignis pushes the door open into the dark hotel room and flips on the light so they can all examine the amenities and claim their sleeping space, his eyes immediately make for the balcony. With curtains drawn, once Prompto and Noctis were asleep, perhaps—

He realizes instantly that the idea is a futile one. They're only on the third floor or so, much too close to the ground to hide any illicit actions from late-night passersby on the street below. The shower could be another option, but upon further examination Ignis finds the space much too small to fit both Gladio's hulking body and his own.

Jaw clenched with frustration he does his best to hide, Ignis glances at Gladio. He's pleased to see that Gladio appears more confident, like he's got something in mind. 

_It's fine_ , Ignis thinks. He would trust Gladio with his life. Trusting him with a plan to surreptitiously fuck near their friends seems a nonissue.

"Specs?"

Ignis is momentarily ashamed for not hearing Noct's calls to him until now. He shakes himself free of concern for his plans with Gladio and turns with kind eyes toward his charge. "Apologies, Noct." His eyes, rather than his words, ask if everything is all right.

"Prom and I are going down to the docks. Want to come?"

This must be a blessing from whatever gods still favor them, Ignis thinks, because he can't remember the last time Noctis has had any desire to willingly spend time out of bed past dark.

"It's no Galdin," Prompto says, "But looked pretty nice, you know? Maybe I'll talk to that guy from the magazines again and pick up another gig."

Prompto is in the middle of waving his arm in front of him, dramatically exclaiming his own name followed by the title, "photographer extraordinaire," before Noctis puts an end to the dramatization and drags him toward the door.

"I think we'll stay in for the evening, but thank you all the same."

"Have fun, kids," Gladio jokes.

Noctis speaks up once more before Prompto has drug him into the hotel's hallway, "Will you be awake to let us back in, Iggy?"

Ignis nods dutifully despite the return of those rabid butterflies, and then the door is shut to leave him alone with Gladio.

"I don't want this to be _rushed_ ," Ignis insists, because he knows immediately what Gladio will try and do. "I'm _not_ locking them out of here under the pretense that we're asleep, so don't even—"

Gladio's eyes shift toward the balcony. "That's not what I'm thinking."

"No." Ignis crosses his arms and paces somewhere, _anywhere_ , because he is much more anxious about this than he cares to admit. "No, no, no. I've already considered it, and we're too close to the ground to—"

"Look here, Ignis."

Gladio's use of his given name has Ignis stopping promptly in his tracks and turning, arms still crossed indignantly across his chest. He barely registers that his lips are parted in surprise.

"You don't deserve _quick_ or _rushed_ , and it's not going to be. I've wanted this for, if I'm fucking honest, a long time. I'm gonna pamper you, take it slow, work you up until you're _begging_ me, and even then I might not give you everything right away. I'm gonna make you beg for it, Iggy. You think I'm going to let our first time together be just a quick and nasty fuck?" Gladio actually laughs when he takes a step toward Ignis and sets his broad hands on Ignis's shoulders. "I'm gonna take my time with you, and I'm doing it tonight no matter how we have to make this work."

Ignis can't bring himself to look anywhere other than Gladio's eyes. "Of course," he manages to breathe, and he's embarrassed that it sounds like little more than a noise barely choked from his throat. 

There is simultaneously so much more to say and nothing at all. Gladio takes Ignis's chin between his thumb and forefinger, then tilts his head up until Ignis can feel the heat of Gladio's breath across his face. "Are you going to tell me what you want, Iggy, or do I just gotta take a guess?"

Ignis swallows, and his lips twitch in apprehension. Apparently, that slight movement of his mouth is the only affirmation Gladio needs. Thank gods Ignis doesn't have to spend too much time spelling it all out when they're already short for time.

Gladio's lips come down against Ignis's mouth. The motion is soft and hard at once, careful but firm in its insistence, punctuated by a quick push of Gladio's tongue between Ignis's teeth. The sensation is overwhelming, to say the least, but Ignis doesn't mind the rush. Gladio has promised him that this will be meaningful, sensual, considerate—a quick jump to tongue doesn't bother Ignis. There will be plenty of time for chaster affection at another time. For now, he craves only the full, most unbridled extent of Gladio's passion.

He answers the swipe of Gladio's tongue with an initial push of his own, and the moment their tongues meet sends new shocks of need into Ignis in a way he didn't know possible. All at once, Ignis processes more than he ever thought he could handle. His mouth is full of heat, and the insistence of Gladio's lips on his is nothing short of dizzying. It might be that they're chapped, but the texture sends Ignis's breath into short gasps, and his body shivers with its need for purchase.

Grabbing at Gladio's shoulders, Ignis does all he can to pull himself further into Gladio's broad chest. Compared to what he feels against his mouth, the world is cold, so lacking in hope. In these moments, Ignis fools himself into thinking that, maybe if there's some part of Gladio touching every part of his body, things will be okay again. Instead of verbalizing any of those weighty feelings that tug at his gut, Ignis only moans into Gladio's mouth as an urgent plea for more.

The tips of Ignis's nimble fingers are already attempting to sneak beneath the hem of Gladio's shirt when he pushes Ignis away from him and holds him at arms' length. From Ignis's peripheral vision, he sees the sinewy, toned muscles of Gladio's tattooed forearms and at once feels the commanding squeeze against his collarbone.

"I told you," Gladio says, "That we're going slow."

"A-apologies," Ignis murmurs. Helplessly, his hands fall to his sides as his gut twists with longing for more.

"That okay with you, Iggy? Is this okay?"

"It is," Ignis answers, "The most 'okay' thing that's happened since the start of this trip. Forgive me. I'll control myself."

Gladio chuckles when he pulls Ignis into a hug, and Ignis hums at the feeling of Gladio's wide grasp at the small of his back. "Sorry, I guess I'm a bit of a diehard romantic."

"It's all the cheesy novels," Ignis points out, and it's amusing just to see Gladio's brow push together with a shadow of indignation. "It wasn't an _insult_ , you know. I'm well aware that you're well-read beyond your convenience store Harlequins."

After the exaggerated roll of Gladio's eyes so far up into his skull that Ignis wonders if they'll ever come back down, Gladio settles on the side of the mattress and takes tugs his shirt off anyway.

"Really? After all the fuss?"

Gladio grunts, holds his knees slightly apart, and pats his lap. "Yeah. Needed a more emphatic 'fuck you' than just sayin' it."

A burst of inspiration pops into Ignis's brain, and there's a nasty grin tugging at one corner of his lips before he can stop it. "Well, the _need_ to 'fuck you' is certainly building, so I suppose your plan has worked." The words barely leave Ignis's mouth before embarrassment overcomes him, and he practically leaps onto Gladio's lap to hide his face against the side of Gladio's neck. Ignis knows that Gladio can feel the heat of Ignis's flush against his skin, but there's some small comfort in knowing that Gladio can't _see_ him like this, at least.

The force of Ignis's leap would have knocked any other man back into the mattress, but Gladio is unmoving. He remains seated, back straight, and cups each cheek of Ignis's ass within his hands as if it's the most natural fit in the world. "Yeah? You think you're gonna do the fucking? That's cute, Iggy."

That's it—Gladio has given Ignis the only motivation he needs to regain his composure, pull away from Gladio's neck, and make eye contact so full of fire that it could light a camp stove. "I might be mistaken, Gladio, but that sounded a touch like a challenge." When Ignis straightens in Gladio's lap, he settles comfortably into two handfuls of a waiting grasp. "It would seem for now that you're too occupied to properly engage me otherwise."

This time, it's Gladio who lifts a thick eyebrow and returns Ignis's stare with just as much gusto. Ignis swears the tension between them is so excessive that even the Spelldaggers could make barely a dent in it, but it's precisely that atmosphere that has his thighs trembling and the start of an erection pushing against the front of his trousers. "We'll see about that, won't we?" Gladio growls. HIs fingers clasp more pointedly around Ignis's ass, and then he uses the leverage to fall backward onto the mattress and pull Ignis firmly along with him.

To be manhandled like this is nothing new, but Ignis's stomach leaps with the prospect regardless. This is nothing like his spars with Gladio and the boys on the Citadel's training grounds—the motions may be the same, but the intentions are something else entirely. He finds himself sprawled across most of Gladio's torso, his thigh slotted just against Gladio's waiting crotch.

"Ya seem a bit startled, Iggy." Gladio's words hold little more than feigned concern, but he's not the best actor—Ignis knows full well that the statement meant nothing if not to tease.

"Not at all," Ignis counters, and it's a mistake.

Gladio's hands find another place to grasp along Ignis's body, gripping his heaving sides and flipping both of them a second time so that Gladio is the one perched on all fours over Ignis's prone form. "You didn't mind that, then."

Somehow, Ignis is keeping his cool. "Not at all," he breathes.

In reality, it's been less than a minute, but already it seems like a century since Ignis's lips have last landed upon Gladio's. Lifting his head from the comfort of soft Altissian down, Ignis captures Gladio's mouth in a kiss just sloppy enough that Ignis knows his penchant for coolness has been lost. Gladio answers with all the sensuality in the world.

No matter how focused Ignis remains on each and every sensation Gladio bestows upon him, he finds his mind more and more clouded with desire until there's nothing left but the instinct to push and prod and pose prone for the extent of Gladio's whims. 

At last, Gladio's fingers find some focus at the front of Ignis's collar. "Finally," he breathes against Gladio's wet, swollen lips, only for the word to be swallowed into Gladio's mouth. One button loosed has Ignis's heart pounding; the second brings his chest to a tellingly pronounced rise and fall; the third brings whispers of a crisp breeze to tease at sensitive nipples; the fourth is when he loses himself.

By the time Gladio is parting Ignis's shirt to expose his chest is the same moment that Ignis finds himself first lifting his hips into Gladio's touch.

"Damn, Iggy," Gladio breathes. "You should see yourself."

Ignis doesn't want to imagine how he must look, vulnerable and entirely too lewd for a man of his position—or does he? "Tell me, then, Gladiolus. Tell me what you see."

Gladio actually chuckles. "Ain't ever seen nothing more beautiful in my life."

"Perhaps with the loss of my trousers."

"Yeah. Probably."

Ignis has no idea how long this goes on, and if it weren't for the constant anticipation in the back of his mind that told him there'd be a soft knock at the door any moment, he wouldn't care. Gladio's hands explore him with a thoughtful thoroughness that has goosebumps prickling on Ignis's skin and his body undulating up and down into the mattress's welcoming depths.

"Please," he hears himself say every now and again, though he's not conscious of when the plea is about to leave his mouth.

Finally, Gladio puts an end to it. With a gentle push, he puts a few inches of distance between he and Ignis and softly demands, "Why don't you take yourself and what's left of your clothes out onto the balcony?" This prompts Ignis to glance at the digital clock beside them on the bedside table. It's been just long enough that he fears Prompto and Noctis may be returning soon, if Noctis's typical patterns of exhaustion remain in place as usual.

Ignis nods. He understands now what they have to do, what their only option is, and he finds himself caring less about the people on the street below them than about his need to fulfill Gladio's every desire and to allow himself equal satisfaction. He takes himself, belt buckle loosened and shirt hanging on him entirely unbuttoned, to the French doors and allows himself outside. The Altissian breeze is a welcome relief from the air inside that was becoming hot and heavy and stale with their labored breaths. 

He doesn't know what Gladio has planned or when he might come along, so Ignis waits. He folds his arms over the railing and sighs, focusing on slowing his heart. It's the first spare moment he's had to consider what's happening to him, what's happening to _Gladio_ , and what's happening to both of them. He hasn't allowed himself too much time to ponder it, and he won't now. It feels right, which is what matters, and for once in his life Ignis is determined to not let the cage of his thoughts goad him into disappointing stagnation.

_This is happening_ , he tells himself as he pulls himself out of his own head and pushes his shirt off his shoulders, folding it neatly and setting it beside his feet. His pants are the next to go, along with his underwear. He figures he should acclimate himself to the exposure before Gladio returns, as if anything Ignis does could guarantee his calmness when he sees the first peek of Gladio's muscles and sly smile again.

"Where's Specs?" Ignis brings his attention instead to the sudden noise from within the hotel room.

Through the crack in the balcony's French double doors, Ignis hears concern lace Noctis's voice. For a second, his heart yearns to comfort the prince, as is his duty, but the warm ocean breeze cradling his erection sends his instincts elsewhere. He waits for Gladio in the still silence of the outdoors with nothing to comfort him in his nakedness but the sound of his labored breaths. They seem so loud out here, as if everyone in Altissia can hear him.

_What would Noctis and Prompto think?_ he wonders, _If they found me out here? What would the citizens of Altissia say?_ His gut tugs itself into knots as Ignis reminds himself that he is a public figure now, the King's advisor and perhaps general, after some time. His face is known, now. He has responsibilities to uphold, obligations, an air of professionalism and respect—

Gladio's sudden presence at his side surprises him—he must not have heard for the steady pounding of blood in his ears.

"It's fine." Gladio's affirmation is barely composed of words, more like a breath against the shell of Ignis's ear and little more; the calming hand at the small of his back conveys the same message but silently. "Noct is curling up to sleep. Saw Prompto putting his headphones on. Told 'em we were just getting some fresh air."

The concept is an understandable one, given what they're going through, but Ignis swallows hard and sways back into Gladio's waiting embrace when staring down at the Altissian street below has him too dizzy. It's not their friends that he's worried about, now.

"Lights are off. No one can see you up here, babe."

A small gaggle of tourists wander the street below, speckled with the occasional late-night working citizen walking briskly home with briefcase in hand.

"It's just you and me, and I'm gonna make you come."

Ignis must lurch in his new lover's grasp, because he feels the vibration of a chuckle reverberating beneath Gladio's ribs.

Then, Gladio finishes with something more obscene than Ignis can handle: "When are you gonna touch yourself for me?"

It's those words, uttered in Gladio's affectionate roughness, that have Ignis's knees going weak beneath him. He thinks about it before he answers, glancing behind himself one last time to ensure that the curtains are drawn and the doors latched shut. The momentary break from his fantasy world brings recognition to Ignis that he hasn't seen since Gladio kissed him the first time and spread his legs along the mattress.

"I'm...I'm still wearing my gloves," Ignis says lamely.

They both laugh.

"Yeah? Well, what if I told you I like 'em?"

Ignis considers being flattered, but when his bare feet push against the pile of clothes at his feet he's reminded again of his nakedness. It makes the gloves seem all the more absurd. "You'd be very kind," he manages, but it seems the concession isn't quite enough for Gladio. Insistent fingers tangle into his with an intention that can't be mistaken, and Ignis lets his arm go limp as Gladio lifts one gloved hand up to his mouth. Through the leather, Ignis feels little, but every now and again Gladio's lips push their graces along the tips of Ignis's fingers beyond his gloves' reach.

"Soft," Gladio hums, and recognition washes over Ignis in a way it hasn't before.

"The leather." He blinks, wonders if he should repeat the two words but as a question, then twists at the waist to nuzzle more fully into Gladio's grasp.

Ignis feels the deep rumble in Gladio's chest more than he hears it, and facts fall into place.

"Yeah," Gladio says. "I fuckin' like leather. Problem?"

Ideas pour into Ignis's brain more quickly than he can handle, and he barely hears his own words through the ringing in his ears when he turns in Gladio's arms and sinks deliberately to his knees. "Not at all," he murmurs.

The balcony is shrouded in enough shadow that Ignis can't quite make out Gladio's expression when he glances upward from his kneeling place of rest, but he hears breathing become more labored and doesn't miss how Gladio's hand shakes as it brushes through Ignis's hair. Its style has long been lost by now, and with each swipe of Gladio's fingers along his scalp, Ignis feels another strand of his bangs fall limply onto his forehead. He wonders how he must look, disheveled and flushed and for the first time in his life unbuckling a man's belt with the intention of baring the temptation that lies beneath it.

Ignis is grateful for Gladio's silence, but the salty Altissian air sits heavy on his bare shoulders and has him wondering if he's doing this right. With Gladio's fly down, Ignis can see the clear outline of his erection through the thin cotton fabric of his underwear. He swallows, clears his throat when nerves have his vocal cords sticking together, useless, and reverently pulls down the wide elastic band.

With nothing separating Ignis's face from Gladio's half-formed erection but his own bated breath, Ignis glances up to Gladio again and smiles. He breathes deep to savor the unique scent of musk and salty arousal that only complements the ocean air. Ignis breathes his wordless accolades, and he watches with rapt attention as the sensation of his breath alone firms Gladio's cock.

"You okay, Iggy?"

Admittedly, Gladio's voice startles him, and Ignis hopes to the gods that he hasn't embarrassed himself by staring for too long. "Yes," he manages, and thinks it for the best that his back is to the balcony's edge now. To engage with Gladio like this is so much already—Ignis doesn't know if he could manage it knowing that there were heedless Altissians window shopping at the closed boutiques below them. He holds his breath deep within him, then surrounds the growing shaft of Gladio's erection within both of his gloved palms.

Gladio hisses his approval, and Ignis knows from first contact that there's nothing more on Eos he could ever want more than this.

Ignis is knowledgeable despite his inexperience in the physical realm, and he prides himself on knowing that Gladio won't have to tell him what to do. Each and every tightening of his fingers, twist of his wrist, and push of his thumbs are calculated. He adjusts all the time, listening carefully for the melody of tell-tale hums and gasps, and within only a few moments of stroking Gladio's cock with glove-clad hands, Ignis has analyzed Gladio more thoroughly than any political briefing or royal report.

"You sure you ain't done this before?" Gladio asks.

"Quite. Perhaps it's only the gloves you're enjoying so much." Ignis says this to tease, but he recognizes the potential for truth behind his statement. Is he relying on a crutch, to be using from the get-go what seems to be such a turn-on for Gladio?

A competitive fire has always sparked in Ignis, and even from a young age he recalls how he would concoct plans of sleepless nights in order to impress his tutors. _I've never seen a student move so quickly through a single book_ and _Are you quite sure you've not studied this before, Ignis?_ were the types of comments he sought. It was no different when he took to the Crownsguard training grounds at sixteen.

"Perhaps," he says with shameless glee, "I'm just a natural." Ignis takes a risk, then, punctuating his quip by pressing the flat of his tongue confidently against Gladio's leaking slit. The taste of precum overwhelms his senses, and hazy with lust, Ignis has to admit that he wants _more_.

_Slow down_ , he tells himself, but he's loath to heed his own advice. _You don't want Gladio to think you a slag._

_Or do you?_

By now, Ignis knows only that he wants _Gladio_ , that he has wanted Gladio for a very long time, and that he will continue to want Gladio for as long as he lives. With their lives swallowed by recent disaster, what else is there to lose?

With the sting against his scalp spurring him on, Ignis pulls the thick head of Gladio's cock entirely into his mouth. The sensation against his tongue is new and different enough that he takes his time exploring it, rolling his tongue along the bottom and sides of Gladio's tip in an attempt to begin memorizing its every curve, the distance from ridge to tip, the way it twitches up against the roof of his mouth when he swirls his tongue just right.

"Yeah," Gladio sighs. The breath tickles the edge of Ignis's conscience, beyond the ringing in his ears and the pounding of blood that fills his head with little more than a deep bass drum. "Maybe."

From that moment forward, Ignis allows himself more freedom. Each sigh, breath, and tug on his scalp makes him feel more free, and Ignis wants to kick himself for not realizing until this very moment just how much he dedicated himself to pleasing people.

He uses his mouth with as much finesse and precision as his Spelldaggers, dragging Gladio's cock against the barely stubbled surface of his tongue and flicking the pointed edge of his tongue against the tip. Bit by bit, Ignis works to take more of Gladio's length into his mouth—whatever he can't envelop between his lips gets the special treatment of soft, worn leather.

Ignis only regrets that he can't feel against his palm each pulse and twinge of the veins along Gladio's shaft, but this is only the beginning. _There will be other moments,_ Ignis thinks. _Tomorrow, the next day, and the day after that._ The thought is an innocent one, something he thinks so little about despite the unrealistic optimism and their meeting with Secretary Claustra the following day.

Long ago, Ignis allowed himself to disappear into the all-consuming pit of his desire—now, he disappears within it. There is nothing in the world he could possibly fathom in this moment aside from the way Gladio's cock pushes against the inside of his cheeks and the heaving sensation that comes along with Ignis's first attempt to take a part of it down his throat.

Gladio murmurs something, the syllables in staccato within the heave of his breath. Ignis thinks he understands. 

Tentatively, he allows one of his hands to abandon Gladio's shaft and instead cradle at the testicles that, until now, have gone ignored.

Gladio's grateful sigh, full of relief and praise hummed for Ignis through lips loosed with lust, is the only confirmation Ignis needs. He maintains his ministrations with one hand along Gladio's shaft, another cradling his balls, and his mouth tending to as much of Gladio's cock as he can manage with each breath. Soon enough, he settles into a rhythm, and he's delighted to feel the way that Gladio's balls tighten in his palm with a warning that they could explode at any moment.

Steeling himself, Ignis closes his eyes. He doesn't quite know why—there's not a single part of him that could imagine _not_ swallowing Gladio's load. It feels good, though, to rely on nothing but touch and the delicious sounds that meander to his ears. He wishes he could ask Gladio directly if he's all right, but he can infer enough from the motions above him and the way that Gladio begins thrusting tentatively into his mouth that everything is just fine.

_I know you're holding back_ , Ignis thinks, but he doesn't mind. It's consideration for Ignis's own inexperience, he imagines, and he remembers how Gladio emphasized earlier that night the importance of taking his time with Ignis, of showing him the best time he's ever seen.

Even if Gladio has already met that goal, Ignis respects his dedication to a promise all the same.

Not once does he allow the maintenance of his rhythm to cease, though he does take careful note of the way that Gladio's palm slides down across his scalp until it's holding the back of his head still against a steady thrust of his own hips. 

Ignis doesn't mind his mouth being fucked—quite the opposite, actually—but he remembers Gladio's affection for the sensation of leather dragging along his skin and abandons the need to cover Gladio's cock in his grasp. Instead, he at last lets his hands fall to his sides—the first time he's been at all conscious of the way those gloves feel at the side of his bare thighs—and holds his neck steady for Gladio to use as he wills.

There's so much more that he wants to do, but at the same time he wonders if he can truly manage it—the sensations are too much, and his attention is being drawn in so many different directions that it's all he can do to keep his throat open for Gladio's needs. As the thrusts become more erratic and Gladio begins to murmur tiny hints of "I'm close," and "Oh, fuck," Ignis at last allows his hands to return to their places atop Gladio's thighs. Bare fingertips trace along the crease of his thigh, take a single exploratory swipe beneath his sac, then return to the base of his cock to nestle in a comfortable patch of pubic hair.

This is how Ignis holds himself steady when Gladio comes so close to the edge that he can barely control himself anymore, and it's also when a brilliant idea sparks into Ignis's brain. He doesn't have time to think about whether or not this is a good idea—instead, he pushes Gladio away from him with one palm flat against a muscular thigh, then pulls his mouth off the tip while steadying Gladio's cock with a single confident hand.

It's back to the leather again.

Ignis can barely keep himself from laughing when Gladio moans his disapproval, but he doesn't feel too bad knowing that he's about to make it up to Gladio in every way he can.

Shifting his knees against the balcony's concrete, Ignis draws a final breath through his nose and returns to his new favorite activity around Gladio's dick. Gladio is close and Ignis knows it—he intentionally keeps contact with Gladio's sensitive tip exclusively to his tongue. Not once does Ignis allow the head to disappear in his mouth, and the slit dripping with precum is only permitted to leave his sight for a moment at a time.

"Good," he murmurs, without meaning to, and Gladio hums his own approval.

A few more confident swipes of Ignis's tongue are all that Gladio needs to reach his end. Thankfully, Ignis has enough contact with Gladio's cock to have an idea of what to expect, and he takes the opportunity to drag his hands across every inch of Gladio's shaft. By now, its length has been so covered in thick saliva that Ignis's gloves slide along the skin with ease. For Gladio's enjoyment as much as his own, Ignis settles firmly onto his haunches and parts his lips. He's not sure how much of it he'll catch, and he hopes that majority finds its way elsewhere, but he imagines that the mere sight of a mouth ready and waiting for Gladio's cum will be just enough to get him—

_There._

A few quick snaps of Gladio's hips bring his release, and Ignis struggles to quiet the sounds rising in his throat. Cum coats his tongue, his lips, and the tip of his nose in thick strings; amidst Gladio's orgasm, Ignis brings the gloves to his face and carefully wipes himself clean. When it's all said and done, Ignis knows he must be quite the sight naked and kneeling on a public balcony, his gloved hands hovering uncertainly beside his face as the leather catches the slick globs of cum that slowly make their way down Ignis's chin. With a final burst of inspiration, he swipes the tip of his tongue along his lips to pick up the rest, and not once does he break eye contact with Gladio.

Ignis remains in a haze, but he trusts himself to Gladio's firm grasp when hands tuck under his arms and pull him up into a firm embrace. "G-gladio," Ignis barely manages. He's messy, and he worries perhaps disproportionately about dirtying Gladio's shoulder or hair with the remnants of his own cum. "I need to—"

"No," Gladio says. He does nothing but hold Ignis tight, his arms wrapping, unforgiving, around the small of Ignis's waist. 

Behind Gladio's back, Ignis peels off his dirtied gloves and lets them drop to the balcony—only then does he return the embrace. They hold each other, just like this, for long enough that the breezes from the water cool just beyond the point of discomfort. Ignis's naked body, even within Gladio's protective embrace, shivers within its layer of goosebumps.

"Do you think they're asleep by now?" Ignis recognizes as he asks the question that it's a silly one, and he chuckles at himself into the expanse of Gladio's heaving chest.

"What? You wanting a round two?"

Ignis's body rocks with more silent laughter, and he finally peels himself from Gladio's grasp for just long enough to pull his clothes back on sans belt and underwear. "Of course," he says, because there's nothing quite like being honest. "But I fear we won't have the appropriate time to ourselves until after Noct has been wedded."

Now, Gladio is the one to laugh. "Yeah, maybe you'll catch the bouquet."

The sentiment is a cute one—and a joke, Ignis knows—and it warms his heart despite knowing all four of them are still in denial about an eventual wedding. With tender kisses along Gladio's neck, across his collar bones, and down his stomach, Ignis kneels again to lovingly tuck Gladio back into his pants and buckle him back up safe and sound. When he rises the second time, he finds himself looking at Gladio not unlike the way he had earlier that afternoon, when both of them were fully dressed and still gazing at each other with a softness in their eyes that's new and exciting and will hopefully persist for a long time.

Ignis allows himself one more treat as he smooths his bare hand over Gladio's ribs. The skin-to-skin contact is almost enough to have Ignis excited again, but he pulls off just at the point of Gladio's hips. 

"Damn your propensity for such minimal outfits, Gladiolus."

Gladio snorts. "Yeah. Speaking of minimal outfits—" Ignis meets his eyes with a challenge, but Gladio still continues. "I think _you_ were the one who was naked when you sucked my cock like a cute little slut."

As he typically does to distract himself, Ignis creates a quick list in his head. It's better than what might result if he's left to his own devices after a comment like that (another blowjob could certainly be in the cards, if not more).

"Yes, yes," he retorts. _Shirt? On. Trousers? On. Shoes? Still inside._

As for the gloves—

Well, they'll remain a telling secret on the balcony until Ignis can give them a careful washing in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Twitter @raptor_redeem for more Gladnis nonsense!
> 
> Also, thanks in advance for every comment, kudo, and hit. I appreciate each and every one of them. <3


End file.
